by Abby Green
Marchetti didn’t even look. ‘I’ve shown my face, seen who I needed to see.’
Zoe shook her head, fiercely trying to push down the excitement that had flared. She intrigued him.
‘Mr Marchetti, that’s your world and this is my world.’ She gestured towards a nearby bus-stop. ‘Thank you again for the offer, but it’s probably not a good idea.’
Before she could take a step back he grimaced and said, ‘It’s Maks. Mr Marchetti reminds me of my father—never a good thing.’
Why? Zoe wanted to ask. But couldn’t.
Then he frowned. ‘Do you have a boyfriend at home?’
Zoe knew it would be the easiest lie and then she would be able to walk away, never to see him again. But something rogue inside her made her shake her head. ‘No. I live alone. I am...alone.’
She hadn’t meant it to come out like that, but as she said the words she felt a familiar sense of hollowness inside her. A chasm that she’d tried to fill with intimacy before, which had been a huge error of judgement.
She’d shied away from any kind of intimacy since. But the thought of walking away from Maks Marchetti right now was causing an almost physical resistance inside her. A little voice cajoled her. It’s just a drink—how dangerous could that be? Except Zoe had a sense that, while she felt she could trust Maks Marchetti on a physical level, on an emotional level it would be a whole other story and one she hadn’t really considered.
‘So?’ he asked. ‘What’s stopping you?’
It’s just a drink.
Now Zoe felt ridiculous. She was projecting way too much onto what she was sure was just a polite overture, even if he had said she intrigued him.
‘Okay, then. Yes, I’d like that.’
* * *
Maks wasn’t prepared for the relief he felt. Most women he asked out were all too eager. Zoe had looked as if she was considering his question from a million angles before coming to her decision. Not what he was used to, but then he sensed nothing about this woman would be usual.
He said, ‘I know a place not far from here. I’ll drive.’
She looked at his car and seemed to go slightly pale in the dusky light, but then she said, ‘Okay.’
Maks sent a quick text to give notice of their arrival, and as he drove he noticed that Zoe’s hands were tight on the backpack on her lap.
‘You’re a nervous passenger?’
She flicked him a quick glance. ‘Something like that.’
‘You don’t drive?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Living in London, I don’t really need to anyway.’
That was the platitude trotted out by most people who hadn’t learned to drive and who lived in London, but Maks sensed there was something more to it.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m an excellent driver.’
She flicked him another glance. When she saw his face she smiled and let out a small chuckle. ‘I guess that shouldn’t surprise me.’
Maks smiled back. He felt ridiculously buoyed up, to have defused her tension.
After a few minutes he pulled to a smooth stop outside an anonymous-looking townhouse. He unclipped his seatbelt as a valet came around to his door. ‘This is a private club. I hope that’s okay?’
* * *
Zoe did her best to sound nonchalant. ‘Sure.’
Someone opened her door and she got out, her legs feeling slightly wobbly as they inevitably did after a car journey—even a short one. Maks hadn’t lied, though. She’d felt cocooned in his car, and he’d driven with total confidence and competence.
For someone who was as hyper-alert as she was in cars, she’d almost let go of her alertness for a moment. A disconcerting sensation to admit to.
Maks joined her where she stood on the pavement. He indicated a set of steps that led up to a huge oak door. There were no markings on the building and Zoe sensed the exclusivity.
She moved forward and went up the steps, very aware of the man just behind her. As she got closer to the door she wondered why this moment should feel so momentous. She really didn’t want it to. She didn’t want to attribute anything special to this...date. She was sure it would be a one-off. And she told herself it wasn’t as if she was in the market for anything more—not with her woeful track record...
The door opened and a sleek uniformed woman stood back to let them enter. ‘Miss Collins and Mr Marchetti, you’re very welcome. Shall I take your coats?’
Surprise that the hostess knew her name had Zoe hesitating on the threshold for a second. Then Maks’s hand touched her back. It was barely noticeable through two layers of clothes, yet it burned like a brand.
As Zoe followed Maks’s barely discernible prompt to move forward into the hushed space, she knew with a sense of doom that she was in trouble. Because this felt momentous, and there was nothing she could do to quash it.
* * *
‘What do you think?’
Maks looked at Zoe’s rapt face as she took in the surroundings of the private club. She was looking up at a massive chandelier lit with hundreds of fake candles that flickered with a surprisingly realistic effect. He wanted to tuck her hair behind her ear so he could see her better. And then he wondered what the hell he was thinking. He never usually indulged in moments of PDA, even minute ones. They tended to be misconstrued.
Zoe said, ‘It’s...very decadent. It reminds me of a boudoir.’ She glanced at him quickly. ‘Not that I’ve ever been in a boudoir.’
Pink tinged her cheeks. He wondered if she kept her hair down to hide her scars.
He looked around and made a face. ‘It’s a bit over the top, and about five years out of date. We’re redecorating soon.’
She looked at him. ‘You own this place?’
‘It’s part of our portfolio,’ he said carelessly.
‘Is there anywhere you don’t own?’
He looked at her. ‘Plenty...but we’re working on it.’
‘Total world domination?’
He smiled minutely. ‘Something like that.’
They looked at each other for a long moment and eventually she broke the contact. ‘Why are there curtains on every booth?’
She was looking at the long heavy velvet curtains, currently drawn back from their own booth.
‘So that they can be pulled across if one wants privacy.’
She frowned. ‘But why—’
And then she stopped suddenly, the pink in her cheek deepening as she obviously thought it through.
‘Oh.’
Oh, indeed.
It was a long time since Maks had seen a woman blush and it had a direct effect on his blood. Making it surge. He shifted in the seat.
A waiter approached at that moment, with a tray containing a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two glasses. When the waiter had poured the champagne and left, Zoe said, ‘Is this really necessary? This isn’t a date.’
Maks handed her a glass and looked at her as he said, ‘Isn’t it?’
* * *
Zoe’s heart palpitated. Maks was so close she could see that his eyes were lighter grey around the edges. His jaw was stubbled.
He tipped his glass towards hers. ‘Salute.’
After a moment she clinked her glass on his and it gave a melodic chime. ‘Cheers.’
She took a sip of wine and it fizzed against her tongue, igniting her taste buds, leaving a crisp, dry taste in her mouth.
‘Your accent...you’re not English?’ he asked.
Zoe tensed. She wouldn’t have expected him to notice that. He was foreign himself. She shook her head. ‘No, I’m Irish. But I’ve been living here since I was eighteen.’
‘Do you have family in Ireland?’
She shook her head quickly, instinctively shying away from more questions. She deflected the attention to him. ‘You’re Italian?�
�
‘Half-Italian, half-Russian. My mother was Russian.’
‘And you have...brothers?’ Zoe knew he shared control of the Marchetti Group, but not much more than that.
He nodded. ‘Two half-brothers. And one half-sister on my mother’s side. She was the result of an affair my mother had with an American bodyguard. One of her many affairs while married to my father.’
This was said with no intonation of emotion, but Zoe sensed the undercurrents. ‘Are you close to your brothers and sister?’
A muscle pulsed in Maks’s jaw. ‘My brothers and I didn’t grow up together. It’s only since our father died and we took control of the company that we’ve got to know one another better. So, no, I wouldn’t say we’re close, but I am very close to my sister.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Sasha is twenty-five.’
The same age as Zoe. It sounded as if his parents’ marriage had been volatile, which would have undoubtedly brought him and his sister together.
Afraid that he would ask about her family again, Zoe asked, ‘Did you spend time in Russia, growing up?’
He took a sip of champagne and shook his head. Zoe noticed his hands. Masculine. Long fingers. Strong. A shiver of something that felt like longing went through her.
‘Not really. My mother’s family cut ties with her when she married my father and he got his hands on her inheritance. It was his modus operandi—fleecing his wives of their fortunes to fund his own ambitions.’
She was surprised at his honesty.
As if reading her mind, he said sardonically, ‘I’m not telling you anything that isn’t available online.’
‘So where did you grow up?’
‘Rome and Paris, mainly.’
At that moment they were interrupted by a young woman in a trouser suit, hair tied back. She looked at Zoe. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she said. Then she looked at Maks as she handed him a small bag. ‘This is it, sir.’
He took it. ‘Thanks, Maria.’
The girl left and Maks handed the slightly bulky-looking bag to Zoe. ‘This is yours.’
She took it and her heart thumped as she felt the weight and shape of it. She looked at Maks as she opened the cloth bag and took out her camera. The rush of relief was almost overwhelming. As was the surge of emotion.
When she’d gathered herself she looked at him. ‘I thought you would have thrown it away.’
‘I almost did...but something stopped me.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t.’ Her voice was husky.
‘It’s important to you. Clearly.’
She nodded. ‘It belonged to my father. He was a photographer...among other things.’
‘Would I have heard of him?’
Zoe avoided answering directly by saying, ‘He died a long time ago—that’s why this camera has such sentimental value for me.’
‘You’re a good photographer. Did you study?’
She shook her head, self-conscious now. ‘I’m self-taught.’
‘So you sneaked into that show to try and get some experience.’
Shame lanced her. She put the camera down. ‘Look, I’m so sorry—’
But he cut her off, saying gruffly, ‘When I saw your camera pointing at me I overreacted. I don’t tolerate invasions of privacy well. My sister and I...we were constantly hounded by the paparazzi while we were growing up, thanks to our parents’ very public affairs, fights and then divorce.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
Maks shrugged. ‘It came with the territory.’
‘How old were you when they divorced?’
‘About fifteen. My mother is on husband number three now.’
Maks’s voice was hard and flat, brooking no further discussion. She could empathise with that. There was a lot she didn’t want to talk about either.
She picked up the camera again. ‘Thank you for this. It means a lot.’
‘Why did you take a photograph of me?’
Zoe felt heat rise into her face. She forced herself to look at Maks, even though she was squirming inside. She felt defensive under that cool grey gaze. ‘I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you you’re a good-looking man.’
‘There were infinitely better-looking men than me there that day.’
Zoe could have debated that point. She shrugged, trying to feign a nonchalance she wasn’t feeling. ‘You caught my eye... Everyone else was looking around, looking for attention, but you looked...contained.’ Zoe winced. How could she articulate the way he’d sent off such an aloof vibe...?
Maks’s mouth twitched. ‘I don’t tolerate small-talk well. Inane conversation, talk of the latest trends... I like to make my own judgements.’
His gaze narrowed on her and Zoe felt breathless all over again. A hazard with this man.
He said, ‘You caught my attention.’
Her heart thumped. ‘But... I’m nothing special.’
* * *
Maks knew she wasn’t fishing for compliments. She sounded genuinely perplexed.
‘I haven’t stopped thinking about you for the past two weeks. I kept your camera. I looked through your photographs. There are none of you.’
‘Why would I take pictures of myself?’
‘You’re beautiful.’
Her expression shut down, and she avoided his eye. ‘You don’t have to say things like that. I know I’m not.’
Once again Maks fought the urge to tip up her chin, make her look at him. ‘You might not be seven feet tall and have the kind of outlandish traffic-stopping looks that models have, but, yes, you’re beautiful.’
* * *
Zoe glanced at Maks suspiciously. But he wasn’t laughing at her. She’d been given compliments before, and she’d found herself soaking them up like a flower responding to the sun’s rays, but soon she’d realised they were empty compliments, used to manipulate her.
This felt different. Which made it dangerous. Because she’d extricated herself from a situation with an ex-boyfriend who had been infinitely less in every way than the man in front of her.
Maks Marchetti left Dean Simpson in the dust. So how much more damage could a man like Maks do, if she left him in?
She didn’t want to answer that, because on the other side of fear was something she didn’t want to acknowledge: hope. She’d allowed herself to feel hope before and had learnt a harsh lesson. Did she really want to risk that again?
No.
‘Look, I’m under no illusions. Your industry celebrates perfect beauty, and we both know that I do not come close to that ideal. Not with a scarred face.’
Maks cocked his head to one side, looking at her. His gaze moved over her face and she felt hot again. She cursed herself for drawing his attention like this. She’d hoped mention of her scars, of the fact that she wasn’t perfect, might act as a deterrent. Remind him that she only intrigued him. Nothing more.
‘Perfection is overrated. Believe me. I’m far more interested in beautiful flaws. Everyone is flawed, Zoe, but most just hide it underneath a pseudo-perfect exterior.’
Zoe’s breath hitched. She really hadn’t expected to hear him say something like that. His words resonated deep inside her, where she held exactly the same sentiments.
Before she could respond, Maks was reaching for her hand and holding it up. Electricity short-circuited her brain.
He was frowning. ‘Your finger—is it okay?’
She looked at her hand stupidly and saw the plaster over her injured finger. She wasn’t sure if it was throbbing now because of him or because it hurt. She couldn’t pull her hand back.
‘It’s fine. It wasn’t a deep cut.’
‘Still, it was my fault you hurt yourself.’
Zoe forced herself to move her hand away. ‘Honestly, it’s fine.’
She took anothe
r sip of champagne, hoping it might calm the hectic beat of her pulse. She would never have expected someone like Maks Marchetti to prove to be so...perceptive. And the fact that he’d kept her camera and returned it kept emotion bubbling far too near the surface.
She needed to take a breath. Get her bearings before she lost all sense of reality. Before he could speak again or, worse, touch her and scramble her brain.
‘Would you excuse me for a minute?’ she asked.
Maks said, ‘Of course.’
He motioned to one of the staff, who came over and showed Zoe where the restrooms were. She went inside and leant against the closed door for a moment, wondering if it would ever be possible to be in this man’s company and not feel dizzy.
She chastised herself as she pushed away from the door. She wouldn’t be seeing him again. Stupid even to go there.
She went over to the sink and ran the cold tap, putting her wrists underneath the water and then splashing some on her face. She stood up and looked at herself critically. Her face was flushed, her eyes far too wide and awed-looking. Her hair was down and tousled—and not in a good way.
Her leather jacket looked worn, and her shirt still showed a damp stain from the spilled wine. Zoe groaned. She most definitely was not sophisticated—or beautiful. Especially not when compared to the women she’d been serving wine to at the event. The man needed his eyes checked. Perhaps he only found her interesting because she was so different to everyone else in his milieu? He was just jaded.
She battled against the fizz in her blood that spoke of too many dangerous things—excitement chief among them.
She couldn’t indulge this heady moment any longer.
* * *
Maks watched Zoe return to the table. The lines of her body were tense and her eyes were avoiding his. He knew instinctively even before she opened her mouth what she was going to say.
She stopped at the other side of the table and finally looked at him. ‘This has been lovely. Thank you for the drink, but I really should be going now. I have to work in the morning and I don’t live near here.’
